PART TWO
It was so convenient.
The town hall clock tower was being maintained, and the scaffolding was easy to climb. Just like his little friend had said. Now George stood at the top and looked down at his home town.
“Men were not made to fly, they were made to fall,” his friend told him.
The stars shone overhead. Smoke drifted from nearby chimneys. It was so peaceful.
No more nightmares. No work, no cold, no hunger, no loneliness. It would be so easy, his little friend had told him many times.
“YOU GET DOWN FROM THAT ROOF SON”
A voice came so clearly through the night air that for a moment George thought it was the voice of God.
However, looking down he saw the tall, gaunt policeman. In one hand he held a lamp, the other was pointing up at him with absolute authority.
His little friend vanished and George suddenly felt very scared and alone.
Slowly and carefully, he climbed down the scaffolding.
“Suicide is against the law,” the policeman told him, “but I’m going to let you off this time. Tomorrow morning I’ll be round your house at dawn, I know where you live George, and we are going to see either a priest, a doctor or that girlfriend of yours. It’s your choice.”
“Yes sir,” George replied, and trudged home.
Three loud knocks on the door.
George rolled over.
Dawn. Who actually does things at dawn? What is this, a cowboy film?
He dressed quickly, opened the door for the policeman and made them both a cup of coffee.
“Where next?” the tall, gaunt policeman asked him.
Still half asleep, George tried to think. He’d been given 3 choices. He didn’t want to wake her up. He wanted to talk with her, but not like this. A priest was not really an option, George had been raised in the Church of England, but he hadn’t thought about religion for most of his life. Church was just where you went for weddings, Christenings and funerals. In the last few days he had been thinking about that type of thing a lot, but not in a sane way… If demons exist then God must exist too, but it was all too complicated.
“I think I should see a doctor, maybe he can give me something to calm my nerves. But can I cook us some breakfast first?”
“Aye, good lad.”
Her phone rang later that morning. Groaning, she dragged herself out of bed and answered it.
“Alright? It’s me, Helen.”
“Morning… I hope this is important, you know I don’t like mornings.”
“Yeah it is. It’s your lad, George. Did he tried to jump off the town hall last night-”
“What?!”
“Yeah, he was standing on the roof talking to himself, all crazy, but then that scary policeman came and told him to climb down… so he climbed down… haven’t you heard?
“No, how do you know about this?”
“It’s Kendal. If you do something daft at night the next day everyone knows about it before you.”
“Right, thanks for telling me. I’ve got to call him, check he’s alright. See you.”
“Alright, see you.”
She immediately tried to call George’s house but there was no answer. She washed, dressed and made a cup of tea, still no answer.
So she finished her tea and set off walking to George’s house.
It took about 20 minutes.
She knocked on the green plywood door. When there was no reply after a minute, she knocked again much louder and rang the doorbell. She was getting worried.
Looking around frantically, she saw George’s mother walking up the street with a basket of groceries. She took a deep breath to calm herself, then waved at her.
“Alright luv!” his mum shouted. “ I’m so glad to see you! George has been awfully queer recently, then this morning that policeman came and took him away… I don’t know what’s going on. Come in, I'll put the kettle on.”
They sat at the kitchen table drinking tea and eating piles of biscuits as George’s mum explained how George had become extremely unsociable and often disappeared all evening with no explanation. That morning she had woken up in time to see him and the policeman walking away from the house. If they knew anything about George trying to jump off a roof, she clearly didn’t want to talk about it.
“What’s he going to do with my son?” she continued, almost in tears. “He scares me, that policeman… George can’t go to prison, he’s such a good lad. I tried calling the police station but they wouldn't tell me anything, said they didn’t know what I was talking about. I don’t trust those -”
“Don’t worry. He’s not that bad. I meet that policeman a lot at my pub, you know how it is, and he’s a fair man. Scary, yes, but not bad, he just takes his job very seriously.”
“I hope you’re right, luv.”
“Don’t worry. I’m sure it'll be alright. If we’ve not heard from George by tonight, I’ll ask that policeman. He always comes into the pub at closing time. But I’m sure George will be home soon.”
“Good lass. I’m sure you're right luv. Have another biscuit, you’re too skinny…”
They both promised to call each other when they saw George, and after a few more biscuits, she left.
About half an hour after she had left, George walked through the front door of his house, looking very tired.
“Where the bloody hell have you been?” his mum shouted, before rushing to hug him.
It was the afternoon of the next day and Helen was chain smoking outside the cafe. This was usually a sign that she was excited. Helen loved gossip more than anything else in the world.
“... and the next morning that policeman took him to the doctors to get him some medicine to help him sleep. His mum was so worried, but she’s alright now,” she concluded.
“Have you met up with him yet?,” Helen asked her.
“No, not even talked on the phone. This mum called me soon after he came home. I should call him later today, but I guess he’ll be really embarrassed,” she replied.
Really, it was she who felt terribly guilty for introducing him to a world that he could not handle then abandoning him.
“Poor George…” Helen lit another cigarette with the end of the last one, “Oh, I almost forgot to tell you, I got a new job!”
“Oh, good, that is it?”
“Cleaning in the town hall, I’m going up in the world! Or down actually, I’m going to be working in the basement and cellars… My mate Sue got me the job. She’s been working there for yours- it’s a council job- you know… she says no one wants to work there because it’s so creepy, but I’m not bothered about a few cobwebs.”
“That’s great,” she smiled and then finished her coffee. “I should get going, get home and call George.”
“Aye, you should, he’s a good lad, such big hands,” Helen winked.
“Good bye Helen, good luck with your new job.”
“See you!”
That policeman woke at 500 hours. The same as everyday.
In his head, the bombs were still falling.
He washed his hands and face. Shaved. Brushed his hair. Put on his uniform.
Deep in his heart he wished it was khaki. Still, the police uniform was better than nothing.Then his boots which had been polished the night before. The same as every day
By the time he had gone downstairs, his daughter had made his porridge and tea. He wished her a good morning and thanked her because he loved her very much.
The same as everyday. There had to be something to fight for.
In his head the bombs were still falling.
At 600 hours he left the house and walked towards his station. It was a Sunday, so he would meet his family in church at 900 hours. If anyone minded him going to church whilst on duty, they didn’t complain about it to his face.
She dragged herself out of bed at 8.15am. She hadn’t slept much, but she felt like she should go to church this morning. She made a milky, sweet cup of tea for breakfast and dressed quickly, then set off.
She had a lot of thinking to do as she walked. It had been good to talk to George on the phone last night, but exhausting too. She had promised to meet him in the evening. She had to find a way to protect him from the world she had dragged him into.
The tall, gaunt policeman arrived early, took his usual pew in the church and waited for his family. He looked around him, noticing that the huge nave was already half full, and taking a moment to enjoy the stained glass. A few moments later, he saw that girl walk in, she looked tired. Then his own family entered, just a minute before the service began.
She came in and sat at the rear of the church, near the door. It was a sunny morning, but it felt freezing inside the church. Churches were always cold. At least the stained glass shone brilliantly. After getting herself as comfortable as she could, she noticed that policeman. Did he ever take off his damn uniform? Was that his wife and daughter? It was hard to imagine him being a family man.
After a brief greeting the priest began to read in Latin from the Old Testament.
She couldn't understand. The man had tried to teach her a little Latin, along with some old Norse runes, but as a child she had never seen the point. They were dead languages. It all seemed so pointless…
It was misty on top of the mountain where she stood. Misty and lonely.
A star shone in the sky, then rapidly became brighter. An angel was descending. Its vast wings cut through the mist and it looked down on her with its beauteous face. She looked up, filled with expectation. Was this a message from God? A divine mission?
The silence was broken only by the flapping of the angelic wings.
The serenity was disturbed by the stomping of boots.
A gigantic man strode up the mountain. Naked from the waist up, his bronze flesh was covered in scars. A silvery moustache covered most of his weather beaten face and one eye was reduced to a mass of scar tissue.
The titan grabbed the angle by one wing and pulled it down. They wrestled- for but a moment.
With a massive hand, he ripped off the angel's face - or mask- to reveal a second visage.
Now it wore a human face- ugly and consumed by pain and self pity.
She awoke in the church.
No one seemed to have noticed. That was why she sat at the back.
She felt refreshed, but terribly cold.
The priest kept talking.
Restlessly, she sat through the rest of the sermon. As soon as possible, she left the church, rushed home, ate a sandwich and read restlessly- trying to distract herself until it was time to meet George.
LIVERPOOL, AT THAT MOMENT.
He sat, very much alone, on an old crate in an abandoned sector of the docks. The grey sea lapped against the seaweed infested pier.
Where is she now and what is she doing?
He hadn’t really tried to find her when she had run away.
It had been inevitable. At first he had only intended to look after her until he could return her to her parents- a few hours at most. That had turned to days and any family had been unreasonably difficult to find. He had no choice but to raise her as his own child and had come to love her very much. He had taught her as best he could, she was a natural fighter, but she had never taken to the old gods. She loved the Artherian legends but never grasped their true meaning.
She was always going to leave.
He looked out at the sea and cloudy sky above and suddenly felt very old.
Damn it- he was getting old.
How old would she be now? 24? 26? He cursed himself for not remembering.
Maybe soon it would be time to look for her. Maybe.
He stood up and stretched.
There was a job to do that evening. Basic exorcism. He needed a cup of tea and a pie first.
In the darkness, he walked home feeling weary. The streets were narrow and damp and smelt of salt. He loved those streets
He was so tired that he almost didn’t notice the envelope which had been posted under his door. But he did notice it. He put his kettle on, sat in his armchair then opened it.
Inside was a paper pulled from a notebook. A single word was written, neatly in pencil- KENDAL.
